纸牌屋（House of Cards 英文版）

　　The first cup of coffee made no impact, but the second helped a little. Slowly her headache began  to loosen its grip and she began to take some interest in the rest of the world. Perhaps she could  even stand an early morning

　　gossip.

　　She looked around the intimate Victorian room and noted another political correspondent who was  deeply engrossed in conversation with a Minister, and would not want to be disturbed. Two other  people she thought she recognised but could not be sure. The young man on the next table she did  not know and Mattie had just decided to finish a solo breakfast when she noticed the pile of  papers and folders on the chair next to her neighbour. The papers and the rather academic  scruffiness with which he was dressed suggested that the breakfaster was one of the many party  officials Mattie had not yet got to know. The name scribbled on top of the folder was K. J.  Spence.

　　The journalist's professional instincts had by now begun gradually to reassert themselves under  the steady bombardment of caffeine, and she reached inside her ever-present shoulder bag for a  copy of the internal party telephone list that at some point she had begged or stolen - she  couldn't remember which.

　　'Spence. Kevin. Extension 371. Opinion Research.'

　　Mattie checked again the name on top of the folder, feeling that mistakes on opinion research had  caused her enough trouble already that morning, but there was no confusion. Her editor's sarcasm  had already demolished her faith in the leaked poll's statistics but she thought there would be no  harm in trying to find out what the real figures were. She caught his eye.

　　'Kevin Spence, isn't it? From party headquarters? I'm Mattie Storm of the Telegraph. I haven't  been on the paper long, but one of my jobs is to get to know all the party officials. Can I join  you for a cup of coffee?'

　　Kevin Spence, aged thirty-two but looking older, unmarried and a life-long headquarters bureaucrat  with a salary of ?10,200 (no perks), nodded obligingly, and they were soon in conversation. Spence  was rather shy and deeply flattered to be recognised by someone from a newspaper, and he was soon  explaining with enthusiasm and in detail the regular reports he had given during the election on  the state of public opinion to the Prime Minister and the Party's War Committee. Yes, he admitted,  they did take opinion polls seriously in spite of what they always said on television. He ventured  the thought that some even took opinion polls too seriously.

　　'What do you mean, too seriously? That's your job, isn't it?'

　　Somewhat donnishly Spence explained the foibles of opinion polling, the margin of error you should  always remember, the rogue polls which in spite of all the pollsters' efforts still sneaked  through and simply got it wrong. like the one I've just seen' Mattie remarked with a twinge, still  tender from her earlier embarrassment,

　　'What do you mean?' Spence enquired sharply.

　　Mattie looked at him and saw that the affable official had now developed a flush which even as she  looked was spreading from the collar up to the eyes. The eyes themselves had lost their eagerness.  Spence was not a trained politician and was not adept at hiding his feelings, and the confusion  was flowing through. Why was he so flustered? Mattie mentally kicked herself. Surely the damned  figures couldn't be right after all? The dynamic young reporter of the year had already jumped  several somersaults that morning, and feeling rather sour with herself decided that one more leap  could scarcely dent her professional pride any further.

　　'I understand, Kevin, that your latest figures are quite disappointing. In fact, somebody  mentioned a figure of 31 per cent.'

　　Spence, whose cheeks had been getting even redder as Mattie spoke, reached for his tea to give  himself time to think, but his hand was trembling.

　　'And the PM personally is down to 24 per cent' she ventured. 'I can't remember any Prime Minister  being as unpopular as that.'

　　At this point the tea began to spill from the cup, and Spence returned it quickly to the saucer.

　　'I don't know what you're talking about' he muttered, addressing the napkin which he was using to  mop up the tea.

　　'Aren't these your latest figures?' Mattie reached once more inside her bag and pulled out the  mysterious sheet of paper which she proceeded to smooth on the table cloth. As she did so, she  noticed for the first time .the initials KJS typed along the bottom.